


the death of luke skywalker

by peradi



Series: once there was [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, afterlife fuckery, have you heard, the sad sequel that some people asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: Years after the revolution, some stories end. Others begin.





	the death of luke skywalker

**Author's Note:**

> soooo it's been about two years since i finished writing have you heard, that beast of a fic that consumed my life for about a month, so here's a sequel.

Luke Skywalker wakes up one morning and knows that he is going to die. 

Not  _ now _ . Not tomorrow either. But he is going to die, and soon, and the Force tells him this like wind whispering through the grass, smelling of rain. Inevitable. Peaceful.

He cracks his spine and stands. His joints are hot marbles, aching as he moves. His years sit on him like a cloak of thorns; his body is slowly beginning to crumble. 

He will be the first Jedi in generations to succumb to age. 

That is something to celebrate, in a way. 

(Yoda does not count. Luke is certain that the little green bastard vanished out of spite, deciding that he could be far more annoying outside of his mortal coil.)

He takes his staff up, runs his thumb along the polished wood. Rey carved this for him out of Moltrassian Cypress. It is strong. Functional. She had handed it over with great ceremony, because no one on Jakku gives gifts lightly.  _ For you, father. Father.  _ And how she had rolled the word over on her tongue, tasting it, puzzled by it. Two syllables, clattering against her teeth. 

Outside, porgs chirrup and chatter. The waves snarl against Ahch-To’s jagged black cliffs. 

Luke pushes his awareness out. The nearest Caretakers are amused, because his eldest granddaughter has developed the habit of performing a highly accurate -- if somewhat unkind -- impression of their Mother Superior. A clutch of trainee Jedi drink kaf and bicker  -- 

_ I’m just saying that without Shannah Yzetta, Bren Archer would have been fucked --  _

_ Hey, don’t talk about my dad like that --  _

_ Shut up Janette, you don’t know shit -- _

_ \-- _ and all at once Luke surges back to his body, because he remembers when Bren Archer was about thirty years old, a skinny First Order officer who arrived with his troopers and a starved, feral grin, and  _ if you are going to execute me do it quickly. _

And here is his child. Another generation, growing up in the shadow of a great war. 

Another Jedi Master, fading away and leaving the young ones behind. 

 

 

\--

 

 

Rey catches her daughter’s staff in one hand and kicks her in the kidneys. Han doubles over, coughing. With a dancer’s grace, Rey tugs the staff away, flips backwards, lands neatly. Her hair is cut short, flecked with grey; her Jedi robes are midnight blue, stitched with tiny galaxies, because Finn  _ does _ like to gift her pretty things. And she’s never been one to turn down gifts.

(You can take the girl from the desert, but you can’t take the desert from the girl, not really.)

“Ma _ ma _ ,” Han whines, but she’s grinning, her Force presence alive and sparking, looking for an avenue forwards.

“Clumsy,” chides Rey, dropping the staff. Come on, little one, you’re better than this.”

_ (fuck this fuck this) _

“And keep your thoughts quieter!” 

Hanna Organa thins her lips, lifts her hand. Her staff quivers, and then flies into her palm. 

“Use the  _ Force _ ,” says Rey. “Feel it all around you.”

Han pokes her tongue out. They circle each other: mother and daughter, woman and girl. Han is very much Finn’s child -- though of course, both Finn and Poe are her fathers -- with her dark skin, tight curls and big, black eyes. Her tendency to wear bright scarlet and glittering gold -- declaring the standard issue Jedi robes  _ borrringggg _ \-- is all his as well. Rey dodges another (clumsy) blow and wonders if it is possible to die from loving another human being quite so much.

( _ the wind comes, bringing rain and storm, and porgs sing in the grass and the first Jedi to succumb to years in generations -- ) _

( _ father?) _

_ (oh Rey, darling daughter, I didn’t know you were listening -- ) _

_ (I can’t help but listen -- and what do you mean,  _ **_succumb -- )_ **

**“** Mama?” says Han, stilling. Rey’s face is bone-white. Her breathing grows ragged; the apparatus in her throat wheezes. “Mama, what is it -- “

 

 

\--

 

 

Rey cries and screams and falls to the floor. 

Outliving your parents is as natural as the Force, and ten thousand times as cruel. 

(Luke is stoic and calm and accepts inevitability. Rey is a mother four times over, a hero -- but she is also a daughter, her father’s child. What did you expect her to do?)

 

 

\--

 

 

The waves hush over pebbles and kelp. Luke finds Rey hurling stones into the water. 

“I’ve packed,” she says, without turning around. “Herded Han onto the Falcon. Got R2 teaching my younglings this afternoon.”

The ‘younglings’ range in age from thirteen to forty three. The new Jedi Order does not take children from their parents. 

“Rey -- “

“You’re not even  _ trying _ ,” Rey says, her voice small and tight. She scrubs at her metal throat. There are newer models which are silent, subtler, but she prefers this one: the discordant buzz it adds to her words, the scartissue that crawls to her collarbone, left over from when Luke saved her life, all those years ago. Cut into flesh, fused skin and metal so that Rey might  _ live _ . “We should take you a hospital. We -- “

“Everything has its time. Everything ends. Loss is the price we pay for love --”

“Are you going to tell the girls, or should I? The triplets are  _ eight _ . You won’t see them grow up. You won’t see Han become a Jedi. You won’t -- “

“I will be part of the Living Force. I will see all of that and more. You of all people know that the dead are not really gone -- “

“But they  _ are _ ,” Rey says. She turns back to him. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. “Anakin offers guidance sometimes, but he’ll never hold your hand and help you climb up a cliff, like I do to Han. Padme visits Finn, but -- but she’s like water, a whisper and a breath and  _ gone _ . And it isn’t the same. Don’t tell me that it is the same.”

Luke heaves in a breath. “No. I won’t. But everything has its time, daughter. Everything ends. Once, there was a boy -- “

“Oh don’t you  _ dare,” _ she says, stepping over to him, flinging her arms around him, kissing his forehead. “Don’t you start telling me stories.”

 

 

\--

  
  


 

“Grandmother,” says Mae, her little face upturned. “We would like to attend the debate tomorrow, if that is okay with you?” Her sisters nod in eerie unison.

Leia sighs. It is the luck of the Skywalker line, is it not, that her descendants have whelped three baby politicians, more interested in legislature than gallivanting around the lake. She had hoped that her retirement would involve a lot more travelling in strange and terrible parts of the Outer Rim, and less shepherding small things around the halls of power. 

Han is easy to deal with: she’s a little shit who is strong with the Force and brave to the point of insanity. Typical Skywalker. But these three -- Padme, Artudeetoo and Falcon, best known as Mae, Artu and Fally -- are perfectly obedient, frighteningly clever, and  _ inscrutable _ . What eight year old is  _ inscrutable _ . 

Leia had not been planning on attending the debate. She is  _ retired. _

But here you go. 

“Of course it is,” she says. Artu grins. The triplets look like Poe: olive skin, long black hair, dark eyes. Ever since they were allowed to pick their own clothing they’ve chosen to dress alike; today they wear sky-blue dresses, winched in at the waist with white leather belts; flat, sparkling shoes. 

(Where do they  _ get it  _ from, Leia wonders and then, on the heels of that: they don’t  _ get it  _ from anywhere. They choose. That’s how it  _ works _ .)

“Now, go and play --”

( _ sister) _

_ (help me you are my only h -- ) _

_ (father what do you mean by succumb -- ) _

The Force bring the thoughts like the wind brings the storm: sudden and entirely without malice, heedless of the destruction it leaves in its wake.

( _ she will outlive them all, won’t she, Luke and Han and -- ) _

 

 

\--

 

 

On Kashyyk, a man’s heart gives a sudden, painful lurch, like a fishhook -- buried there long ago -- is finally starting to reel him in. 

The sky is navy, freckled with stars. The man almost drops the load of firewood he holds. 

“Oh. Luke.  _ Luke. _ ”

He does not know what else to say. 

 

 

\--

 

 

There’s a university named after him. 

There have been a lot of profoundly odd things in Finn’s life, and yet the Force still finds ways to astonish him. When he had been informed of this development, a few years previously, he had laughed. It was a joke. Surely. 

But no: they had been direly serious, and even a little offended at his reaction. And so he had followed the progress of Finn Organa University: first with bafflement, then tremendous pride. He was a Resistance Hero -- and he had a  _ university  _ named after him. 

(A list of things named after Rey: umpteen Stormtroopers, more porgs than could be counted, a couple of planets, Sekhmet Snapthorne’s eldest child, two schools and a minor religion. Reyism. Its main teachings involve honouring the Force and gardening, and worship includes a lot of acolytes bashing each other with sticks.)

And now they expect him to make a  _ speech _ . At the  _ opening _ . Of the  _ university that is named after him. _

Finn’s wearing one of his favourite outfits: an obnoxiously purple suit, a pristine white cloak with a high flared collar limned with gold. He stands at the top of a flight of white marble steps, in front of a building that still glows with newness (untouched by war, unscarred by blasterfire) and he speaks about education, about how it is the great leveller. He speaks about Reyma Kiltjael, once an abused Stormtrooper and now a politician with a glittering career. How she devoured every book she found, grabbing knowledge with her greedy hands, seeking more, more, more.

“I met her a few years ago. We argued about conscription -- she’s all for it. I, as you know, have my reservations.”

A muted chuckle. The footage of their screaming match had spread like wildfire. Reyma’s mouth twisted up in a snarl; Finn jabbing a finger at her face. Of course, they tend not to show the aftermath: Reyma buying him a drink, introducing her new husband -- Bren -- and their Janette. 

“But that is what we need -- that is how our Republic is built. We all must learn, and we must be free to form our own opinions -- “

A jab, neat a sharp, just under his heart. Finn falters, and between one blink and the next he swears he sees Anakin Skywalker, solemn-faced, standing in the crowd.

 

 

\--

 

 

Finn finishes the speech, and all but runs to Poe.

“We need to go to Leia. We need to go  _ now _ .”

 

 

\--

 

 

Finn kisses Rey on her left cheek, her right cheek and, finally, her mouth. He remembers when he was young, riding the storm-surge of revolution; how she had tumbled into his and Poe’s bed, weeping for the dead of Icarus. Her lips are not bloody anymore, but they still taste of salt. 

They have congregated in Leia’s private port at her summer home in Morrigan. She may give away monumental quantities of credits, but everyone is allowed their luxuries; especially now that her political career has ended, and she does not have to face the public scrutinising her every move (they want their politicians to live in sackcloth, she had snapped, once.)

(A conversation Finn had once had with Leia:  _ why stay? _

_ Because no one else can do my job like me. _

_ You hate being a politician! You hate attention, you hate negotiating, you hate interest groups --  _

_ Of course. The best politicians hate their jobs. Don’t trust anyone who actually enjoys government.) _

Chromed pillars; a high arching ceiling. A neat collection of vintage racers in immaculate condition: Phasma’s pride and joy. The Falcon, in all her shabby glory, looks at once utterly out of place and fundamentally at home. 

Half a dozen dogs jog about the place, disturbing the droids, licking at the children with happy abandon. Phasma’s pack. She claims not to care about them and constantly complains about the smell, but Finn has never seen her turn away a stray, and there is a  _ reason _ that anyone in Morrigan caught beating their dog tends to vanish into the ether. 

(Take the girl out of the First Order but -- )

Finn releases Rey, embraces Han, kisses Poe. 

Luke hangs back. “Finn, I’m --”

Finn hugs him, hard. 

“Don’t you dare say sorry.”

“I am -- “

“I’ve tried to talk him into going to a hospital,” Rey says. Her voice is thick with sorrow. “But the stubborn bastard won’t.”

Any other time, Han would have been delighted to hear her mother swear. But not today: she huddles up to Poe, looking very small, and very young.

“It’s my time,” says Luke. “I have a gift from the Force -- time to say goodbye. That’s something lots of people do not get.”

The port doors swoosh open, and Phasma and Leia enter, the triplets trotting after them. Finn swallows around the lump in his throat and holds out his arms. Falcon’s the first to pick up on

( _ luke luke luke) _

the sorrow drenching the air; her eyes immediately fill with tears. Half a heartbeat later, Artu does the same, and her little Force voice

( _ luke? luke?) _

joins the thrum. Mae snatches a swift glance at her sisters and starts to cry as well, though there’s no way she can hear the thickening Force conversation around her. 

(One of the few times Finn’s genuinely lost his temper: a journalist once called Mae  _ Force-blind _ . No one does it anymore -- at least, not where her parents can hear.)

The triplets huddle like orphan porgs. 

Finn thinks that this is the price of family: the pain that comes when it splinters. 

 

 

\--

 

 

The misery does not endure: Luke won’t let it. He permits his family a few hours to weep and mope, and then he produces a bottle of finest Corellian whisky and demands that someone make him something to eat, for he is still Master of the Jedi and he is  _ starving _ . Phasma and Poe head off to the kitchens. One of those people is an astounding cook, adept at transforming the most abysmal battlefield rations into a delicacy of which his abuela would be proud. The other once ate glue because no other sustenance was available. Between them, they’ll produce something resembling a feast. 

He kisses Leia on the forehead and says, “I did not come here so we could spend my last days crying. I came here so that we can celebrate. I’ve had a good life, sister, and a long one. I’ve seen peace restored to the galaxy, and this time it will stick. Besides, there is still work to do.”

Leia knows precisely what work he means. There is a story, after all, about a mother who saved her children, even though it burned her alive; about a boy who was eaten up by fire and still lived. And there was no ending. There never is. 

 

 

\--

 

 

By the time they arrive at Kashyyyk, Luke is too weak to stand. Rey carries him from the Falcon to Chewie’s treehouse, barely able to offer her old friend a smile. Her chest is a hollow white howling. Luke is a collection of bones in her arms. Her daughters’ fear plucks at the edge of her Force consciousness.

(Apart from Mae’s. Never Mae’s.)

Kashyyyk’s trees arch towards the muggy grey sky, swaying green and splendid. Rain drips onto the sodden earth. This is a place of life and water, and could not be further from Tattooine if it tried. 

The children have said their goodbyes already, even if they weren’t entirely sure what they were doing. Han lingered the longest, holding Luke’s hand, kissing him between the eyes, listening intently to whatever secrets he chose to divulge to her. The triplets, solemn as ever, had lined up for a hug. 

( _ last, last, last _ , Artu and Fally had chorused, not understanding, never understanding, for they were children who had never known death. And wasn’t that her greatest achievement? Her daughters grew up free from the shadow of war, in a galaxy that was -- more or less -- safe. They had never known the desert’s cruel tongue. They had never gasped in wonder at the colour green, because they had known it all of their life.)

Chewie’s home is built around a great oak; the trunk surging through the six floors of it, broad and strong. Overlapping vines form the roof, casting a cool green light. Rey sets Luke by the window, so he can see the sun and the sky. She props him up with pillows, and he clutches her hands. 

“Please bring him,” he says. Leia clutches Rey’s hand, turns to Chewie. 

“Where might I find my son?”

 

 

\--

 

 

Mae knows that her sisters have something she does not. They all hear the Force singing through them: in their hearts, in their bones.

(When she was four or five she had asked Grandpa  _ what is the Force -- ) _

(And he had said  _ what do you know about it -- ) _

(And she had replied  _ um, it’s a power that some people -- like Jedi and my sisters, and Grandmama Leia -- and Dad and Papi -- it lets them control people and...make things float.) _

_ ( _ And Luke had said:  _ impressive, little one. Every word in that sentence was wrong.) _

Still. People whisper about her. Mama, Papi and Dad try and shield her from it but she’s an astute child (a child who will routinely use words like  _ astute _ in conversation) and she knows that she’s the Skywalker Child Far From the Force, the Weakling Organa. And, worst of all, the Normal One. 

_ You’re so clever,  _ Grandmama Phasma says.  _ Force users need people like you to tell them what to do.  _ And Grandmama Phasma is the strongest person that Padme has ever met, and she doesn’t use the Force at all, not one bit. But Grandmama Phasma is strong and big and tall, and Mae is only little.

But here she is. Her sisters sit in a circle, cross-legged. They’re meditating. Mae often sits with them, knee to knee, and though she cannot slide into the Force the same way that they do she takes comfort from their nearness. And it would be the simplest thing to do. Less than five hours ago, she’d been excitedly planning a trip to the Senate. 

But now they are in Kashyyyk, a place of dense forest and grey skies and damp, chilly air. Hustled aboard the Falcon -- which Mae has never liked; she gets spacesick something  _ chronic _ \-- and then deposited in a clearing, under the watchful gaze of a Wookiee grandmother with grey, braided fur. Mae had greeted her formally -- she speaks Wookiee far better than her siblings (it’s deliberate, of course it is, she’ll sneak into the library at four in the morning and work, work, work, because what comes naturally to them is a struggle for her and oh how she  _ fights _ ) -- and the grandmother had responded with tremendous solemnity. Which Mae appreciated. She doesn’t like being patronised. 

Her sisters: a ring of three. And Mae, sitting to the side. They will be exchanging thoughts and memories as easily as breathing, and there will be no space for her, not really. 

Eyes closed, heads bowed. How serene they are; how alien. They will be wondering why Grandad was so keen to get to this planet. They will wonder what the word  _ succumb _ means. They will ponder what is meant by  _ last time you will hug Grandfather _ because they cannot fathom Grandfather not being there, not really. All those things that they have said to her out loud, because they  _ have _ to speak out loud to her, like she is blind or deaf, lacking some key sense so they have to  _ explain _ , slow and deliberate, like you would to a  _ child -- _

All of a sudden, she cannot bear it. 

With a burst of anger, Mae wheels about and runs. She ducks under a tangle of vines, scrambles up a muddy bank, and no one calls after her. Why would they? They can probably feel her in the Force damn Force. They can hear her heart, read her thoughts. She pushes herself on, running until pain shears up her sides, tucking under her ribs. 

She’s the normal Organa, the Skywalker without the Force, the -- 

She crests another bank, trips over her own feet and goes tumbling down the other side. Shoulder, hip, ankle: all the sharp, tender parts of her smack against the ground. Her breath snags in her throat, tears boiling behind her eyes. She cries out, kicking at the nearest tree. “It isn’t  _ fair _ .”

And then:  _ movement _ . 

Mae’s head snaps around. Leaves are matted in her dark hair, blood wells on her temple. “Who’s there?” she calls, her voice thin and frangible. If she was strong with the Force then -- 

But she doesn’t. She’s Padme Chewbacca Organa, and she’s all alone. 

“Child?”

A man’s voice. A great, dark shape emerges from the forest: huge, taller even than Grandmama Phasma. Black hair, shot through with thunder grey, frames his half-melted face. Both his hands are metal, and as he steps forward she sees that one of his legs gleams silver and chrome. He’s clad in piles and piles of fur, long shaggy fur -- the shrill, terrible question rears in Mae’s head.  _ Did he kill Wookies for that coat -- _

“W-w-who’re you?”

“Nevermind  _ that _ \-- who are you? You should not be -- “ And here he stops. Mae may not have her sisters’ awareness of the Force, but she knows the look of a Force user scanning the air around them: halfway between dreamlike and constipated. 

“ _ Stop that _ . I know what you’re doing.”

He smiles ruefully, half his mouth rising considerably more than the other half, which is lumpy with scar tissue.

“What am I doing?”

“Looking at me with the Force. I hate it when people do that. I can’t do it back. That’s unfair.”

“Life is not fair, little one. And I  _ did not _ kill any Wookies for this coat.”

“I’m not  _ little _ .”

“You are to me.”

Mae pouts up at him. With a swish of his cloak, he kneels in front of her, his head quirked on one side. A scruff of beard covers his chin, getting patchy on the scarred side, like the skin is soil where no plants grow. The eye on the scarred side is different as well, yellow as pollution. When he blinks, the yellow eye has a half-heartbeat delay.  _ Oh _ , Mae thinks,  _ it’s fake. _

“Everyone’s little compared to you. You’re gargantuan.”

“No. You’re tiny. Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be. And I can do what I want.” Mae’s heart flutters with terror, but she swallows it down, straightening her spine, clenching her fists. 

“Hm. You are lost.”

“Don’t read my mind!”

“You  _ look _ lost, little one.”

“My  _ name _ is Mae. Not little one!”

The man’s eyebrow -- he only has one, the left; the right one has been burned off -- lifts. “Alright. I will call you by the name you decree. Where are you meant to be?”

“Nowhere at all. My sisters -- “ 

Her sisters. The image of them -- sitting knee to knee, serene and alien and happy, hand in hand, sitting somewhere where she can never touch -- flashes into her head. Her sorrow is so instant she can taste it, and she bursts into tears. 

“Oh no, don’t cry. Do not cry Mae. Oh please don’t cry, what the fuck do you do with a crying child,” he says, and suddenly Mae finds herself scooped up, nestled against the man’s side, half under his cloak. He jostles her up and down until she clutches at his tunic. He smells rank, warm, animal.

“Stop it. I’m not a baby.”

Her throat is one hot ache, but she glares at him with Organa pride.

“No. You’re not. I’m used to Wookie children. A Wookie babe your size would be barely a year old, still on the teat. I’m going to take you back to your parents. Kashyyyk is relatively safe, but it is not good for a child to run away from a family who loves her.”

He elbows through the vines, walking back the way she came with long, effortless strides. Mae snuffles into his cloak for a little while longer, then rubs her face clean on the side of her coat. “What’s your name?” she asks. They walk on through the sun-dappled path. Trees reach towards the sky; bright-winged birds trill liquid silver songs. “I’m Padme Chewbacca Organa.”

“I guessed that.” He stops, studies her face for a moment, and then pokes her cheek: it’s not like when Papi pinches her affectionately. It’s like he cannot quite understand that she is there. “You have your mother’s face. But you don’t --”

“Do  _ not _ talk about the Force,” Mae shrills, kicking him hard in the flank. “I  _ hate _ the Force.”

“So did I, once upon a time. It seemed so monumentally unfair.”

“They say that the Force is strong with my family. But not with me.”

“Oh, is that all? You do not feel you have a great Skywalker destiny? Are you jealous, child? Are you upset?” He pokes her again. She slaps at his hand, wriggles to get down. He drops her onto the damp earth. Actually  _ drops her _ . She bounces, shows her little white teeth. “You little -- you -- you  _ shit -- “ _

She aims a kick at his boots. He sniggers, dances out of the way. His metal limbs move smooth as silk.

“Is that what you wanted? The Force to whisper to you? To tell you that you are  _ special _ ?”

“Yes!” Mae wails, sitting down hard, yanking her knees to her chest.”Yes, that’s what I wanted.”

“Can I tell you a story?” he says, in a tone that implies strongly that no matter what her answer a story will be forthcoming. “Once there was a boy. He was told all his life that he was special. And can you imagine what happened to that boy?”

“No,” Mae says. 

“No, you probably can’t. Because he burned up with the weight of that destiny, and he burned a lot of innocent people alive.”

“Is that a -- a metaphor?”

“No. He genuinely did burn some people alive. He was a...challenged child. Anyway, the boy chose his fate, but the pressure of the Force did not help. There was another...there was a man. And he did not have the Force with him. But he was a legend. He saved thousands.”

The man rocks back on his heels. Clearly, the story is done. 

“Is that it?”

“Yes. What matters are the choices you make, not what power you have.”

Mae considers this. “I -- I do want to make things float though. And my sisters...it’s like they’re in this club that I’m not part of.”

“I told you the Force-damn story --  _ what more do you want --  _ “

 

 

\--

 

 

Luke has had a troubling dream. It bleeds into reality, in the way that dreams do when you are close to death, and the skin of time thins around you, and the Force shows you what may be. In this dream -- this vision, this version of what could be -- there is a girl. She bears her teeth and spits  _ maybe it is time, time for the Jedi to end _ .

And opposite her is another girl, slightly older, darker-skinned -- and yet they are sisters, you can tell it by the way they stand, by the way they angle towards each other. Sometimes they stand either side of a river of blood; sometimes they are on a beach; sometimes they simply materialise in a corridor as he walks to the refresher. 

_ Please, listen to reason. You cannot end us. You don’t have the power -- _

_ I don’t have your power, I don’t have our family’s gifts. But I have a power all of my own, and you will not stand in front of the revolution --  _

_ Think of mother --  _

_ I am. _

The darker, elder one wields a lightsabre -- bright white in her hand. She’s dressed in Jedi robes, and her hair is Padawan-braided.

The younger, pale one carries a commslink. The sort of thing used to call soldiers into battle. 

The words vary. Sometimes the older one pleads; sometimes she is furious, and orders in a battlefield bark. Sometimes the younger one is terrified, quivering but standing firm; sometimes there is a bruise ripening on her lower lip; sometimes she has teeth missing, and blood on her cheek. Sometimes she laughs. 

Sometimes the darker one says:  _ this isn’t what Luke wanted _ . 

Sometimes the pale one retorts:  _ that is the point, sister. Nothing in our family is gained by following the wishes of grandfathers.  _

Sometimes the darker one says:  _ Father weeps for you. _ Sometimes the pale one weeps. Sometimes she replies:  _ Father’s death was your fault, and I weep for him.  _

It changes, because the future is slippery and wrangling and the Force cannot shape it completely, only taste the edges of possibility. But the ending is always the same. The older one swings her lightsabre, cutting her sister down. 

Or the younger snaps her fingers, and a hail of blaster fire takes down the Jedi. 

 

 

\--

 

 

Rey finds her daughter clinging to Ben’s back; a cavalcade of baby Wookies surround his feet. Ben is midway through constructing a weapon that looks like the bastard child of a bowcaster and an anti-starfighter gun. 

“Right, so we need to add the zakouma crystal here, it’s a great source of power -- Mae, pass it down?” And Mae pulls something green and shining from her pocket, presses it into his metal hand. “Thank  _ you _ . So, you’ve got your basic bowcaster framework to channel the energy, but we’re going to need --”

He senses her before he sees her; her Force presence flickering over his. 

_ (hello Ben) _

_ (Rey) _

He isn’t so uncouth as to call her cousin. He turns to face her; Rey’s not surprised by his mutilated face -- she’s seen holos after all; Leia keeps in contact with him, even if she has never felt the need to -- but she is astonished by his  _ smile _ . It’s crooked, weighted with scar tissue, but it is genuine. There’s a sense of  _ softness _ around him. Calm waters, gentle rains. Healing. 

“ _ Mae _ ,” Falcon and Artu call in unison. Han -- old enough to have read every horror story about Kylo Ren -- is uncharacteristically quiet, hanging back by her fathers. Her spine straight; her little fists clenched. 

( _ Mama is he safe -- ) _

( _ yes, darling, yes) _

Mae slides down Ben’s back, landing among the squalling group of Wookie cubs. They roar at her, and she burble-coos back. 

“Mae, come here sweetie,” says Rey, offering her hand. Mae -- ever obedient -- trots up, jamming her thumb in her mouth as she does so

“Ben. It is Ben now, isn’t it?” says Finn. 

“Yes. Finn Dameron, I presume.”

“You’ve met my youngest,” Finn says, ever the diplomat, as Padme sulks towards her sisters. “Padme Chewbacca. That’s Artu and Fally,” both of the triplets curtsey, skirts splaying out. Rey has never taught them to do that; but both of them have dreams about a beautiful stately woman, with a kind voice and flowers in her hair. “And this is Hanna.”

“Han,” Hanna corrects: a challenge. Her throat bobs. 

“Han. It is an honour.”

Ben inclines his head. 

“My middle name is Solo,” Han says. There’s nothing spiteful about her, but she’s picking up on Rey’s anxiety. Redemption can be found, after all, but Finn’s spine still aches in cold weather, and every few years they uncover a fresh horror the First Order was responsible for and covered over with battle ash. There is no end, after all, no neat little bow that says  _ and then they were friends _ . Only the painful, endless work that is the Light side. On and on, sure as the tide. 

“Han Solo Dameron,” says Ben. If the words taste like thorns in his mouth, if they cut his tongue -- well. They  _ should _ .

Rey swallows thickly, taps at the metal-piece set into her throat. 

Poe claps his hands. The little ones turn to look at him. “Right, girls, go off and play. We’re taking Ben back up to see Luke.”

 

 

\--

 

 

The sunset splits the grey clouds open; lucent streaks vein through the achingly blue sky. Luke’s vision blurs. For a moment, he sees two suns -- and he is a young boy again, immortal, skimming over red sands on his T-16, chasing Womp for the giddy thrill of it. 

The image dissipates. He stands on the bank of a river. Somewhere, birds twitter. The sky is lilac, and a moon the size of a planet bloats against the horizon. Stars freckle the heavens, and his father is watching him. 

“It’s almost time,” Anakin says. 

“Yes. I -- I’ve been having these dreams.” And though Luke is a grandfather and a father himself, he still stammers like the farmboy he once was. Anakin nods.

“I know. It could happen. It might not.”

“It’s fine. I’ll stay. I’ll guide Mae, I’ll make sure -- “

He stops. Anakin is shaking his head. 

“No. You won’t stay.”

“But -- but I will. I have to! I have children!  _ You  _ stayed -- and mother stayed, and Yoda -- “

“Walk with me,” Anakin says, suddenly. Luke steps forward, onto the water, crossing the river light as a leaf. The opposite bank is an endless desert, white as bone. The horizon is black. Anakin does not turn that way though; he walks along the river, and Luke walks at his side. The water somehow flows both ways at the same time, kicking up little silver flurries. 

It occurs to Luke that this is the only time in his entire life that he has walked with his father as an equal.

“I will stay,” Luke says. “I  _ must _ stay. That is how it works for Jedi -- “

“Tell me. Have you ever seen Qui Gon Jinn?”

“Obi Wan’s master? No. No I have not -- “

“Or a woman called Ahsoka?”

“No -- “

“This world is a river. There are those who linger, and there are those who continue. Those who linger are anchored -- by their actions, or their choices. I stayed, because what choice did I have? I died before I could redeem myself. Your mother felt that she failed her children, and so she stayed. Obi Wan had forgotten what hope felt like. Yoda...do not ask me about Yoda, who the fuck knows with that little swamp thing?”

Luke coughs laughter. Anakin smirks. 

“The river continues,” Anakin says, indicating the water as they walk along. “And we who remain sit on the surface. Oh, we can push it one way or another if we try -- but do you know what torture it is to try as hard as you can and still see those you wish to influence fail…”

His voice trails off at the sharp look in Luke’s eyes. 

“You do. Of course. But consider this: the dead speak. Doesn’t mean that anyone listens.”

“That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t  _ try _ ,” Luke says hotly. Anakin nods. 

“Why did you want to leave Tattooine?”

“Because the universe was so much  _ bigger _ ,” says Luke, at once. He doesn’t need to think about that one, at least. He remembers his childhood spend hungering for the sky. “And I knew there was more to see.”

“More to do, more that needed you -- beyond your uncle’s farm.”

“Yes!”

“Well,” says Anakin. He stops. Luke stumbles to a halt. The river is opening up in front of them, frothing shining and white, transmuting into sand, becoming the desert -- that unearthly desert that stretches towards the distant horizon, where eternity waits. Anakin plants his hands on Luke’s shoulders, turns him around to face the river; the river of mortality, of this life, of the universe he knows. “Behind you is your uncle’s farm.”

 

 

\--

 

 

Ben kneels to Luke. It’s not an act of submission, but of kindness. Luke can’t lift his head anymore, and this way Ben can hear him.

Rey stands to his left; her Force presence snap-sparks, roiling with light. Finn and Poe are behind her -- always with her, as they should be, as they must be. Three stars in the filament of the earth, caught in each other’s gravity. 

His mother is on his right. Her small hand finds his shoulder and grips tight. For the first time in a long time Ben thinks:  _ this is a family. This is my family. _

“Uncle,” he says. 

Luke’s eyes are milky white, but his gaze is as keen as ever. 

“Once,” he says. Despite everything, his voice is strong. “Once there was a girl, and she was full of anger, and hate, and pain. And her family loved her, but they did not notice and they could not know her, for who truly knows someone’s soul? And they tried their very hardest, and it was not enough. For sometimes the Light side is not enough. And sometimes the kindest of parents fail. But once there was a boy, and he lived through a fire and…”

Luke swallows. 

“I think it’s a little late for stories, isn’t it Ben?”

“I don’t know Uncle,” says Ben. His cheeks are wet and warm. 

“You’re a bit too old for them.”

“I don’t think anyone ever is.”

“The best thing you can do for fire, you see, is to make sure that it never gets to start. Evil can be starved to death. And…” His breathe rattles in his throat. “Look after her. You were her, once. You can stop it happening again.”

“I -- I can’t -- “

“You  _ can _ . And you will. You will choose to. And you will help her choose as well. You must.”

“I promise,” says Ben. “I promise.”

Luke Skywalker smiles. 

 

 

\--

 

 

Anakin hugs him. 

And Luke sets his feet towards the horizon, and begins to walk through the desert, into the unknown, to whatever awaits him there.

  
  
  
  



End file.
